Page 33 of Limbo

His lips twitch as he obliges. He hands me his phone, and I scroll through. At least once a day, our classes conflict, most of his starting or ending within a few minutes of mine. Then I reach Friday, and my mouth falls open. Every one of our classes overlaps. One of mine doesn’t even begin until midway through his two-and-a-half-hour philosophy lecture.

“You’re not doing this anymore.” I rip out a piece of notebook paper and create a schedule. If he insists on continuing, I at least want a guarantee he isn’t ruining his education. I huff and force the paper into his hand. “These are the only times acceptable from this point on.”

He makes a face while reading and swipes the pen from my hand. Using my leg as a table, he makes changes. Each time he readjusts the paper, his fingers graze over my thigh. He rearranges the paper a lot for that reason alone, I’m sure. But I won’t complain since the touch shoots a shiver through me.

After he finishes, he folds it up and gives it back. Stubborn, he’s written every class in again, only relenting on one Thursday morning and his philosophy lecture on Friday, which he markedMaybe.

Fine, Waters. Two can play this game.

I lean over and cross out anything with the remote possibility of making him late or requiring him to leave a single minute early. I push back my hair when it falls, and already knowing he won’t agree, I hand him the paper.

He no more than glances before he scoffs and tears it up. “No. I reject your proposition and end our mediation.”

To further his point, he throws the shreds in the air. I try to stay serious despite the paper raining down around us.

“You realize you’re picking up all this paper, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He gathers them up from the cushions and reaches for my shoulder, plucking off a lone piece. Watching him add it to the rest of the paper shoved into his hand, I lose out to the smile and look up at him. Something changes in his eyes, the intensity still there but different. Softer and less challenging maybe. I can’t tell exactly, but the way he’s looking at me needs to never stop.

“Jordan…” I hesitate before diving in headfirst. “Is this still an elaborate ploy to sleep with me?”

His expression faulters, probably surprised by the question. We always dance around what we both already know, and what better way to cut the bullshit than just saying it out loud?

“Unknown,” he says after a beat.

In a drastic role reversal from seven days ago,Iwant to seehimcertain. More than I thought I would, which scares the hell out of me.

I force a deep breath and repeat Benji’s words, “Five seconds.” Remembering my goal of not dragging books around this weekend, I reach for one. “I really should study.”

All the wrong returns to his face as he gets up. “I’ll stop distracting you.”

Oh no. We’re not going backward.

He starts to sulk away, so I grab the pen from the cushion and chuck it across the room. It nails him in the back and lands on the floor by his shoe. He turns around to see what hit him.

“You forgot something.” I point to my forehead when he looks up.

The corners of his mouth perk up, his eyes brighten, and he stoops down for the pen. He tucks my hair back and kisses my forehead, the warmth of his lips on my skin hard for me to breathe through.

“See you later, beautiful.”

The exact response I wanted—needed.

I slide the pen from his grasp. “See you later.”

He backs toward the door, and once it shuts, I let out a pent-up sigh. I can’t stop smiling, bordering on giddy. It’s incredibly embarrassing. I mean, what’s next? Hearts drawn in my notebook?

Absolutely not Henders.

Abso-fucking-lutely not.

The cushion vibrates under my ass, and I dig around for my phone.

Felicia:Want to go out Friday night?

Can’t. Going home.

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